Happiness is a Warm Gun
by RestlessRuin
Summary: Destiny and Fate play a cruel game of tag when Lord Shen is on the verge of death. Old habits die hard, as obsession and ambition make another stake in the former Lord's quest for power.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Kung Fu Panda, 1 or 2, or anything within their content (including characters), all rights reserved to Dreamworks Studio

Spoilers! If you haven't watched the movie, of course… :D

Synopsis: Destiny and Fate play a cruel game of tag when Lord Shen is on the verge of death. Old habits die hard, as obsession and ambition make another stake in the former Lord's quest for power. Will the old familiar cycle take possession of his heart, or will he learn to see past it?

Notes: Hey, this is in response to the inspiration I got from watching Kung Fu Panda 2. I enjoyed the new antagonist and his depth, I hope to add on to it- expand, or just have fun with my ideas. I hope I'm staying in-characters as best as I can, I'm still trying to get a hang of them ;P, but I enjoy any and all reviews- critical critiques or any of that are welcomed, I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing. : ) Enjoy!

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><p>"White, black and red," the owl hesitated, "It's ghostly, though - as if all the color has been evaporated Ting. Unnaturally so; are you sure it's not <em>dead<em>?"

They could pluck out the feathers, and add inks to the colors that seemed worn from the water, breathe life into feathers that could be used to sell and trade. Feng was thinking about that now, the usefulness he could find in the trash they picked through, from the things cities and villages had thrown out and deemed unworthy- one way or another.

"I'm quite certain," the blind mouse held one of her large ears against the cold feathered chest, damp and muddy all over. Her small and nimble hands rested there as well, detecting the shallow movement of breath creeping into the cavity underneath her. "Don't you hear it too, Feng?"

The owl's attention was elsewhere, his sharp and wild eyes coasting along the beach. There had also been remnants of wolf, wolf all over, and it reeked in its decay. He understood a battle must have taken place, but the sea doesn't care who she travels with- she will bring her passengers everywhere and to nowhere. "Hardly," his wings shifted uneasily,

"It will die today - soon perhaps… I'd say even peacefully." He cocked his head overtop to view the strange creature. Dying in dreams, he thought; that was far more merciful of the fates compared to what had happened to the drowned bodies on the shore. "Let's go," he murmured, approaching the boat they arrived in. Regardless the mouse continued her investigation, her lithe presence detecting misplaced ribs, and broken bones. She followed the ligaments on the edges of the creature's wing, where bone had also cracked and shifted, where the presence of swelling and bruising appeared. "Feng," she vocalized her distress, her concern, whereas Feng only felt mild interest in such things but otherwise cared very little for the dying. He was glaring at the boat instead of her.

"No matter how much you think you can do, Ting… it will die."

"How can you say that if we haven't even tried?"

"It's happened before, and fate will only prolong that suffering," he felt himself justified, they couldn't afford another mouth - especially now, when autumn was nearly here, and winter would storm through with a vengeance. Ships wouldn't make the journey to their island, unless they were crazy like the island folk to head out and back again for supplies. As much as the people thought of their self-sufficient nature, they remained powerless underneath the forces of nature. And for a moment he thought he'd won his piece, but as his wings began to handle the rope, the calm voice spoke- far congealed with determination.

"We will bring him," she was old, and stubborn too; but not as old as the ancients, or the elders of the island or elsewhere. Her wisdom not only came from her experience, but her vitality, and perhaps even on a whim regardless of what she was given throughout the course of her life; she understood to take those chances, even if it meant sacrificing a little here and there. "Make him well. And I will call on someone to see him on afterwards."

"Who?" Feng's voice was deep, bellowing at times, and now it flared in the wake of her childness. "Patience Feng…" Feng was not pleased, and regarded the creature with distaste.

"Do you know what it is?" His irritated tone did not bother her at all, "I believe it's a peacock."

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><p>[Days earlier]<p>

The Soothsayer did not enter the city with exact happiness. It was something she recognized, and she had become mournful in the process. The walk became long, had made her weary - and it was times like these ones where she would find herself questioning her decisions, her actions. For although the events leading up to the present time solely depended on the characters in question, she would wonder absently the consequences of her sight. It was as if her ability represented the many doors to one's life at his crossroads, they might be aware of which door they chose to take, or otherwise remained blind and continue a path without knowing which one they had chosen. Regardless of the blind or the seeing, it was as if she could shed light on the potentials of that door they were about to embark.

But there was such an irony to it, and it was painfully sweet.

She smiled nonetheless; Gongmen City was alive once more. Rebuilding, celebrating their heroes' victory. The oppressive regime no longer frightened mothers from allowing their children to play outside their houses, in the streets; where vendors basked in its relief and found they were happier than before, anxious to sell and return to the natural pulse of the city.

"Soothsayer."

"Po," her smile grew, bowing together - she had much joy for him. "I wanted to say, you know, before we leave…" he had a grin about him, scratched his head absently in thought; he'd learned so much about his family, that despite the horror he had first witnessed in his memories gave him what he needed most to move on. "I can't thank you enough," he finally spat it out, his hands out in exaggeration.

The old goat chuckled, "Don't thank me," she shook her head, "You were in control of your own destiny- a little guidance, my dear, that's all I ever did."

"But-" the Soothsayer ducked her head, a playful air ran through her eyes when she laughed once more, preventing Po from protesting, and instead relented with a shrug. "All right, all right - but you did save me from that river." The old goat grinned, before they walked together and joined the rest of the team.

With them Masters Storming Ox and Croc appeared- despite the loss of their Master, they were now tasked with the guardianship of the city. A sobering feeling, but one in which both Masters would dutifully, and humbly seek to accomplish. They now stood in a pavilion as the sun wavered, well beyond noon. "Masters," the Soothsayer bowed, "Gongmen City is in your debt, you have cleared a new path for its people, so that they may now live in harmony. And with your help, Kung Fu and China remain under no restraints."

"It was our duty and pleasure," Master Shifu replied. "Will you not continue in your previous position, Soothsayer?"

"I have thought about it," she stroked her beard, "But my time has passed, and I must move on- that is the way of things."

"Very well… Masters Storming Ox and Croc, until we meet again." they brought their open hand and fists together, bowing one last time before the heroes of Gungmen City began their long journey home.

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><p>[Present Time]<p>

Darkness wasn't the last thing he remembered.

It was the sound of his own limbs crushing, and having the weight of what seemed like the whole earth pulling him past the wood and layers of the ship, did he feel satisfaction then?

Dying was the only option, and so would his concoction for death in the form of fire and steal. His destiny, as it appeared- fulfilled, and wrote with failure from the very beginning.

Any other circumstances and maybe, he would have dealt with the panda as any other technicality in his way. Clean cut efficiency, for which that abdominal bear had dodged from… remaining there however, in the face of his own creation, he could at least throw himself in the _fire_, defy the Soothsayer's pestering voice that hovered over him in that second, and dismantle the panda's victory in a form of suicide - a suicide of conscious decision. And so it had plunged him into its depths with the loss of his thoughts gone to oblivion, and at the mercy of death he had craved savagely for. Would he not meet peace in the end?

In the throes of the in-between, between waking and sleeping- his sorrow, pain, took up as actors on a stage, and filled him with dreams, and dreams that felt so real that he was utterly helpless and defeated at their sight. Scars flourished here, examined and re-opened, over flowing with the backlog of thoughts that had not moved, had not dissolved among the years he felt such torment.

Beyond his own mind, he was with fever, sometimes the heat would startle him out of the unconsciousness, but that reality which only appeared dream-like, wavering and fuzzy provided him with illusion he couldn't discern from. He would be talking, but his voice would not always reach the air - and he would find his body too stiff and cold to finish these words.

At no point did he realize the mouse by his side, or recognize the owl when he appeared. He did not recall small nimble hands, her incisions when he had fallen asleep - and the movement of broken bone being re-aligned. When she was not steeping a warm pot of tea, or messaging the stiffness out of his body, she was playing her instrument- the tone of a weeping soul that fled into the theatre, and calmed the open scars for a while. Just enough to plunge back into darkness and into nothing at all, to no existence.

For this reason the Soothsayer _could not_ sleep, had tried to - but that old familiar feeling had crept inside of her, and now she could only wait and listen. Smiles had faded, and her sight had become clouded in the process. Uncertainty had finally made its way through her knowledge, gnawed as a worm would through the core of an apple in the span of two weeks.

The conceptions of yin and yang warred in this uncertainty. A balance was being measured, but could not settle on one or the other. Great fulfillment resided on one far edge, the other is bare and hungry, ravenous and seeking. It was not despair that had touched her, that perhaps she had missed something; she approached it with as much concern any student might harbor for the task set before them. The student who is always listening, and learning; who is both flexible and open.

Thus, she would find a place in one of the gardens. She would sit there for hours, in the faces of the stars and of the sun. The wind was an old companion, the darkness farthest from her reach a bottomless well for which provided insight. Her meditation would unveil the uncertainty in waves, and gave her reassurance that all would come together in due time.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Kung Fu Panda, 1 or 2, or anything within their content (including characters), all rights reserved to Dreamworks Studio

Spoilers! If you haven't watched the movie, of course… :D

Notes: _Thank-you_ for your reviews, and watches, I appreciate them a lot! I had trouble with this chapter, I wrote a part of it, and then ended up scrapping it and coming up with this. There are 'other' characters, but I am trying to centre this around the main ones in the movie; I felt that if I just randomly added people without building a face for them, it would make said main characters look faceless themselves. Enjoy!

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><p>The house trembled while thunder broke out underneath heavy, pregnant clouds. The windows would rattle, and reflect from time to time the sharp jagged figures of lightning. Feng stood just at the house's entrance, which was in essence a very old and large tree. The interiors were quite in fact holes dug out within its interior, designed to have the tree remain fairly stable and alive while its inhabitants enjoyed the protection of the elements.<p>

From his position he could see most of the remaining tree line, just before it hit steep cliffs and plunged to the ocean. Although nocturnal himself, he could skip days of nights and assist his friend, however that should be.

With his talons gripping the edge of the bark, he remained calm, and observant of the weather. Nature was in itself a language he could easily pick up and speak; every sound, image and taste provided its essence.

It had been two weeks since their new find, and although he could find solace in the depths of the island's forests, it left him uneasy, suspicious and irritated. It didn't bother him he'd never seen anything like it before, having lived in the far north where the terrain was rough and wild; the remnants of battle on that morning beach left him guarded from the creature struggling for his life. In the back of his mind he found it rather pathetic, demeaning- let a warrior die when he's dying, at least he can die with his honor in the face of his defeat. Which must have happened from the carnage of bodies, pieces of ships, and the strange metal contraptions they had found sprawled out carelessly on the beach… A long sigh escaped him before he re-entered; as much as he'd rather like to ignore Ting's progress, he could not abandon her pursuits entirely.

"There's still a chance he may never fly again," he said mildly, coming up the small set of stairs that led into another room. The dwelling itself was humble, beautiful in a homely sense; the way it had been carved out resembled any other interior beyond the wood work present. The walls were in themselves shelves, cabinets, artwork that would drift subtly in from the light filtering in through one or two windows.

"It's not for certain, but it's possible."The mouse agreed. She was redressing the wounds on one of the wings. Feng stood before the bed, off to the side for which long back feathers stuck out. He glanced once more at them, regretting how much of a profit he could make out of them. "Has he said anything intelligible lately?"

A long pause stretched out, the mouse obviously distraught with his question. "I'm afraid not, words sometimes- at least from what I can make out…" The fever had stopped a week ago, but every now and then convulsions or stirrings would make the peacock's eyes flutter every once and a while before succumbing to sleep. The mouse paused in her work. "Who took care of the beach?"

"I managed to clean off the contraptions, but I can't say for certain if there were any more of them left…" he shrugged. "It did not go unnoticed." The mouse's ears twitched, so the owl continued as he kept his eyes on the peacock.

"Those groveling rats were snooping up some of the spoils, vermin took the dogs. That fool Délì somehow caught wind and appeared." His eyes narrowed. "He was searching for something, too." Feng was watching the mouse, waiting for something he might catch- he knew she hid something from him, the time to unveil that secret would warrant just how far he could dig through in her silence. She however, remained unmoved and thoughtful as she continued on.

"Ting?"

"Right now, I must tend to our guest… I have invited Liqiu to drop by today as well."

"Liqiu?" This startled him. "Liqiu, the biggest gossip there is next to any township or city- for that matter?" His ears, like horns, flared strait up in agitation. "You'd be surprised, Feng." She smiled, a light laugh carried into the air. It stopped short when the body underneath the sheets shifted slightly, muffled nothings coming out of a hoarse voice and moving eyes. Feng stooped further, despite his growing frustration, while Ting held her current position just beside Shen.

When Shen came to he was unaware of the extent of his injuries, wasn't aware of anything when he finally opened his eyes; and could take in the world without having to confuse it with some dream of his, or the fragments of memories taking figures and faces. As blurred as it first was, his eyes began refocused in the warm light.

He hadn't expected a large owl glaring down at him, startled to find a mouse with his wing on her lap. He tried getting up, away from them but pain prevented him from doing so. The least he could do was draw back the arm from the mouse, eyes scrutinizing her.

"Where am I?" He demanded, "What have you done with my body?" He wanted to move, but at that moment he was too stiff, fearful that- by the look of his other wing, splintered, they'd been crushed. It wasn't just his body that offended him… his eyes narrowed; the events leading prior to his awakening settled a burden of defeat on his shoulders, and numbed his thoughts all together. A defeat he had been willing to die with.

Everything had been so _perfect_; to have it all slip away from underneath him…

"You were nearly alive." Her voice was warm, calm in comparison.

"You should have just let me died then." Regardless, how could he have been any happier _alive _- when his defeat had come from a panda? A panda of all things? The only one he _hadn't_ killed.

"But we were there, regardless. We came along, you were hurt- I could not leave without taking you." The mouse had already moved off, the tea boiling on a metal woodstove, smiling. It was simple for her, or so it appeared.

"Do you even know who I am?" He sneered.

"No, I don't." There was so much complexity in his voice, besides the 'higher than thou' smeared in the air, anger, frustration and anxiety- a cocktail of emotions that cluttered at once, scrambling to hold himself together. "But I knew your mother, I knew her very well."

"My mother?" He couldn't help himself, the laugh was calloused and brittle. "That doesn't mean anything to me right now- I can hardly move, let alone -" he stopped himself. It was useless arguing at this point, the failure of his conquest was driving him up the wall - literally. He leaned his head against the wooden backdrop, a little to the right and stared at his bandaged arm instead.

"It should be one more week before you can move; it's a good thing avian bones heal quickly." She poured three cups. "Would you like some tea?"

He didn't answer.

"I'll put it there for you, if you change your mind… it will help you recover." There was a small, rounded table beside him, she held the much larger cup and left it there.

A knocking sound came from the lower level, a door within the household. Feng shifted away, having not said a word; his aversion amplified.

And what he saw at the door only increased that feeling, "Liqiu."

"Feng, a pleasure to meet you once more." He disliked a lot from this woman, from the mere image of the red fox, to her clothes, slit eyes and voice- which sung too sweetly in the air, and ruined the innocence of a child with a coy and playful glance. She was one of the nobles within the region, a figure in the 'court', a general's daughter handed over to a very well off and respected clan leader. She bowed, but he refused to; instead he stepped aside and opened a wing in the direction of the house. "Cheeky thing, aren't you? Do you hate me _that_ much, Feng?" He closed the door.

"Watch your back, Liqiu," it wasn't so much a threat to her, personally; he meant the mouse, and everything they had built up until now. The Owl was coarse himself, and instead of saying it kindly- he would rather get to the point in whichever tone he thought appropriate. Such was the occasion.

Liqiu seemed to have ignored this threat, and walked into the living space in her expensive attire with a smile. Behind her, Feng walked past, came up the stairs, through the previous opening he'd been contemplating to the adjacent room. "Your guest has arrived."

"Good, can you stay here, with him Feng?" He glanced at the peacock, who had met his gaze with the same glare. The tufts of his ears fell closer to his head. Was he obligated to? Not quite, he really didn't want to- this whole thing, this whole crazy 'let's take stray animals and take care of them' wasn't him. At all; and he started to get the feeling Ting realized this, that it was her little way of trying to teach him 'something'. "Very well…"

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><p>When the mouse left, Shen watched as the Owl grabbed a worn out Pipa; sat on a ledge a bit aways, and started tweaking the strings and adjusting them.<p>

"I'm surprised-" he thought out loud, despite how vulnerable he really was- he had always felt alone in a room of many people, even more so with simply one. He used the silence, and the spaces given to him for himself, for thinking, revising plans and dominating that space. But now in his state, he had this owl in his presence, which took up that space and blotted the air with his presence- like a nagging thistle.

"-how well that little mouse controls you." He was inspecting his wing, being careful not to extend it too far out, but mildly curious about the dressings wrapped around certain areas.

"It's very _sweet_; an owl, and a mouse."

The owl's tuft twitched, but he didn't look up. He'd finished tweaking his instrument and started playing a melody before he glanced back, and regarded the mockery- stale to his ears.

"I would have rather let you die," he said plainly. "Your feathers would've been a valuable decoration." Shen stiffened, not out of horror- but out of loathing for the creature, for which he could not swiftly punish or kill. He paused, his eyes narrowing before he directed his sight on the left window in heated control. He should have died in the sea, crushed under the weight of his weapon- no longer breathing, thriving under water. Life should have driven right through and out of him, but now he had become more of a blight on this earth by living… the worst part was knowing that he could do nothing now, nothing would change these thoughts from whispering their poison.

Feng had the Pipa at an angle, so that his right talons strummed and plucked the strings, while the other could play the chords. He didn't enjoy the sickly animal, or noticed- now that he was animate, the lewd expression of that voice and face. When he glanced back up once more, he could no longer control the amount of curiosity secretly taking residence.

"You're most likely the first of your kind to tread these islands," he mentioned. "Something like you won't go unnoticed around here." Shen rolled his eyes.

"I never have," he seethed, the sound of his voice- although hostile, came out as if he'd considered the owl stupid. Feng's chuckle, however short, elicited a sharp grin from the owl.

Feng started to play 'Red River', otherwise Honghe Yejing, an old folk song picked up and ingrained into his memory. It had a playful air to it, before dipping into a solemn undertone. It was short, however complex and provided a place for his mind to fill in that space between him and the bed ridden peacock. Meanwhile, Shen's eyes absently traveled throughout the room's architecture, he had noticed his metal talons hanging from the wall- shards of the metal blades he had used, and the remnant of his sword off to the corner and on the ground. The blade remained intact, but its handle, at some point, had broken off entirely.

"You've kept my weapons?"

"Those broken contraptions; or the metal tubes littering the beach?"

Alarm swept through his body, internally of course- he made a quick adjustment to the owl with his eyes; his crest peaked with said interest.

"…the beach you said?" Feng had finished his song, placed the instrument away and stood halfway between Shen and where he'd previously been sitting. "Yes, along with those putrid wolf parts, and bodies…," he paused, walking over and picking up one of the shards with his talons. "These, I'll use these- I like the metal, they'll do being recycled anyways."

"Not the sword."

"I haven't decided about the sword…"

"That, _there_; is mine- you can't-"

"Right now? Yes, I can."

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><p>In the weeks leading up, any and all wolves left in the aftermath of the battle did not vanish at the sight of their defeat. They were lost, they were broken- and so was their leader. He had been brought to the Soothsayer when guards discovered him with his pack- blood was everywhere, and his life temporarily wavered in the balance. Two weeks later, he could sit up- and even walk for a little bit before the pain at his side would drain him of his strength.<p>

Two weeks however, was a lot of time to think- especially in the face of his consequences. Though, Nianzu had felt a weight lifted from his shoulders regardless. He could taste freedom, and he could see for himself in that freedom the damage and destruction of his pack, his _family_ underneath the rule of his former master. It wasn't just them, it seemed to be everything… He'd constantly find himself alone, simply staring, and wondering how it all began. Where did it start? For the first time, in such a long time; he saw his loyalty as an ugly thing.

Technically he was a prisoner now, including the remnants of his pack. Though they had not fought back, they did not retaliate. They had agreed to rebuild what they had destroyed, reprieve their blood lust. The city folk would not so easily change however, and despite Nianzu's change of heart, he would have to convince the present council otherwise. That in itself proved difficult, if not impossible.

Since his partial recovery he had taken residence in a jail, alone for now. It was meager, far from comfortable, though it allowed him a sense of quiet where he could think for himself. Which wasn't entirely new, but to be able to plan things, discuss them internally instead of waiting on a single hand - without mind or conscience - made the impossible seem… perhaps, just a bit more possible.

Even so, even after each new realization, he fought against his instincts. He was far from pure, from humbling, there were conflicts that stirred within his own people; a wavering of faith. Among these strains and many more - the dim light cascading from the cell's single window proved hopeless, and his tentative plans seemed to fall apart right there before him. It wasn't a 'back to square one', so much as it had become a negative infinity and far, far beyond sight.

He sat now on his cot, staring dumbly at the floor with his hands leaning against his legs, back slightly stooped over.

Time seemed to have washed over him, but he could hardly distinguish it; among the prisoners, feeling eyes wash over him and question his capability drifted right through. The jagged sound of his cell's bars being drummed out shifted his attention, and broke his wandering glance.

"Nianzu, someone's here to see you." The guards - two of them - remained on either side of the cell door. Hesitantly he made his way out, though found himself shoved and pushed, hands bound, and headed out from the glares and gleaming optics residing in the prison's crypts - if just for a while longer.

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><p><strong>~ Notes:<strong>

For your reference, Feng is a Eurasian Eagle-Owl; quite a big guy for his species. In china (from what I've found), they've been called the 'cat eared hawk'.

I also decided that Shen must have had two weapons. I was looking at two of the promotional pictures that feature him with a large lance, which seems to have two 'prongs' on either side of the main blade, and possess a different shape to it compared to the blade he uses when fighting the Kung Fu Masters. That same blade seems to have a very interesting design I can't seem to make out ( D: ) , something scarlet in the middle…

Nianzu is what I've called the Wolf Boss; or at least what I've considered to be his original name. It means 'thinking of ancestors', and there's a reason for this of course! Like Shen I've decided to spare his life, for now at least- his moment of rebellion is something I'd love to expand on, and the social dynamics of his pack.

The song that Feng plays originates from an old Chinese folk song, I realize the 'Red River'/ Honghe Yejing is a later version, but I enjoyed the song too much to throw it out completely- youtube is a wonderful friend. X3

I hoped you enjoyed this so far- there's so many ideas, it's hard to get everything just right on the keyboard. Your reviews are very helpful. Overall though, I'm still working with the personalities, I keep crossing my fingers hoping these ideas aren't too big of a stretch.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Kung Fu Panda 1 or 2, or anything within their content (including characters), all rights reserved to Dreamworks Studio

Spoilers! For KFP2.

Notes: Thank-you everyone for your comments and reviews, they are very much appreciated- and I mean that. x) This one took me a bit longer. I was out for vacation for about two weeks. I think things after this chapter will start to pick up a little bit more. Once more, enjoy, and any and all comments/reviews are welcomed, including critiques as long as they're constructive.

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><p>"Do you think he knows?"<p>

The mouse paused; the needle in her nimble hands wavered briefly.

"My queen?"

"Don't be modest, Ting." A soft sigh surfaced the air.

"I've never… felt so helpless- _afraid_, that my own son believes I am just as critical of him as the rest of the world." The mouse was diligently repairing the silk gown, minutes from now- her highness would find herself at the forefront of maintaining the northern peace treaties.

"I wish people would change." A slight hiss carried over, as the mouse finished her work and the peahen swept her eyes over the adjustments.

"Do you tell him?" She laughed dryly, walking away from the bench and inspecting herself in front of a mirror. "If it were that simple, my little mouse…" The fair haired rodent stood vigilantly beside the bench. At last the peahen turned around, the sound of her garments, light and soft; reflecting the quality of silk.

"Appearances are everything." Resentment held those words together, as the Queen of Gongmen City exited her chamber and made her way into the council room.

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><p>Consciousness was like a beach, the waves gently rolled in and out in sequential intervals. At times, the waves would stretch out and long without warning, sometimes a great force provided this energy. Otherwise, the same hush and lull swept carefully against its surface, dragging the smallest grains of sand closer within its depths.<p>

Shen was not in the right to believe he held any control, and he knew this, to some extent. He had drifted often into sleep without knowing it, and now his mind relentlessly brought him back to his cannons. Unlike his armada, shattered and fragmented across the stretches of an ocean, beaches, the resiliency of his weapons lit a dying spark- for which remained uncertain, and flickered dimly in the wake of his losses. Regardless of any achievement, he possessed an army of corpses, an indefinite loss of resources and _time_. Ships and cannons, let alone gun powder did not magically build themselves up from one factory alone. It had been just about thirty years; enough time for the world to ignore he had ever existed, enough time to manufacture and strategically plan his method of attack. Which had at first fell together rather superbly.

Memory would serve as a backdrop for his floundering ambition. The forces inside of him would not retaliate, wedging in, deeper to the roots of his soul. It had been the first taste of battle, he recalled- the satisfying wrench of metal against flesh. He could also remember fear, the stench of a nervous air that not only wafted from his own senses, but that of his men and warriors. For such a sickly thing, condemned by his appearance and his inheritance for _weakness_, he had finally found himself in a position of **control**.

The men were worried, not only due to the fact that death appeared near and crawling closer; they could not help but gravitate their doubt to the young prince. This was - after all - his first battle in a seat of total command. Compared to his involvement with his teachers, the generals or his father, nearly half of the forces would follow his stead. The rumors however, flew around like wild flies, and chewed away at their clouded judgment. They'd glance at their supposed leader, and felt the close proximity of death, pale - like those feathers, blood red gushing out from their veins.

Shen ignored it, to the extent of how much his stomach could tolerate it. He assumed confidence, steady – he had told himself. _'The men look up to you,'_ his father had said. _'If, at any moment they see you falter, your army will fall to pieces, and the enemy will not hesitate to tear you apart.'_

Several contingents were posted just at the end of a field. Shen's was the largest, allies to his right and left. They took a position in the forest at the end of the meadow. The main forces, farther than the meadows, had already begun their attack on the rebel base to the north. Shen's end was at the precipice of the oval embankment, where fleeing rebels and terrorists alike would find themselves pinched towards the south end when defeat proved eminent. Ending this debacle would ensure peace, for the sake of many- a future would be restored without the presence of a rift and war stirring the calm and content.

Hours could have passed, perhaps even mere minutes, but the rush of fresh rebels hoping to evade the siege at their doorstep trickled out into view. The tension at first was unbearable; Shen could not deny how well it had seized him. Regardless, by a matter of insight his wing herald the archers in calm disposition. "Steady," he ordered, keeping his focus on the group as a whole. He could already feel the eyes of the commanders keeping his right and left; head archers waiting on his signal… their eyes burned, but did not crush his confidence.

He waited for the perfect timing, the very last moment, that sweet spot - watching the wave approach them. Knowing they'd all be fooled brought a chill throughout his body when his arm drove down, and the sound of thundering arrows cut through the air above him.

Two volleys provided enough damage for the melee forces to advance. Three might have ensured it further, though Prince Shen had quickly found himself lured by the heart of battle. The commanders wouldn't have realized this, as they would later dictate this decision to be an error of agitation, nervousness perhaps. No matter, Shen could feel the confidence in his troops take an opposite direction; was it trust then, that they had slowly settled on?

Regardless, he could not afford to hesitate- that was final.

Efficiency followed his blade, and made short work with the grunts he made contact with. Several years would have already provided him with that foundation for which any warrior possessed, though he ultimately lacked years of experience in its exact field of practice. For all its grace and swiftness, Shen had grasped that brutality as its end result. One does not think about the families behind a face, the children dependent on a father to provide a thriving life, regardless of where he has taken his ideologies. The world was simple here, life and death balanced on Shen's blade; his command was final and set in stone. He couldn't fathom any other time where he had proven himself capable of carrying the doubts of those eyes, and inspiring the weight of their criticisms to break free, follow, assume confidence and decimate their enemies. His father, he thought, would be _proud_.

The sun wavered in the light, tinged red, bleeding while smoke bellowed out from the northern stronghold. The previous ferocity of the enemy sweltered, began teetering as bodies dropped, pushed back. There were losses either side, but the rebels were overwhelmed, and did not realize their escape routes would be cut off in such short notice. Their commander proved resilient under these circumstances, but he knew his heart was not in it; his comrades, more than soldiers, faced an enemy they could not possibly defeat. Shall they die in vain, or should they seek mercy in hopes death might be spared from them?

"Sir?" Voices wavered, the rebel commander grit his teeth and took one more glance at nearly half the men he had already lost.

"Signal the surrender," he growled out. The officer before him hesitated.

"Well? Sound the surrender, now!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The commander glared into the foray ahead of himself, his spirit torn away. It showed in his eyes; that of a lynx held a golden hue steady and strong, now it was left dull and lost.

A thick layer of drying blood coated Prince Shen's blade. He had just fooled his enemy by faking a movement to the left, distraction flared in the presence of his plumage before he darted right, underneath the stooping figure his sword gleamed at the exposed neck from such an angle. It happened so quickly then; Shen felt the stiff body in front of him slump into his blade, and against his shoulder. It was such a bizarre feeling at first, to have his opponent's last breath drift across his body. The flow of viscous, warm fluid brought him out of it. His mind caught between whether he had felt horror, or fulfillment preside.

"My lord." A sharp jerk brought the sword out, and the body crumbling to the ground.

"What is it?" Shen twirled the blade once to shuck off any residual blood with a sharp _shink_.

"They've called in a surrender, my lord."

"So they have…" Was it disappointment at those words? Despite the initial fears that had plagued him up until this point, he could now see clearly through his expectations, feeling immediately driven at that point to overcome them far beyond their boundaries. "Round them up," he barked. "Separate the officers and group them together."

He paused, drifted his eyes across the battle field, the last few cries rang out before all at once – the air stilled.

"The enemy commander requests your presence." He hadn't thought about that, who he would face… in all respects he could only see his goal, but as the battle started to wind down and he could feel himself dropping from the excitement, these words provided a sobering thought. His eyes had narrowed, when he regarded the messenger a smirk resided on his features. "Have him wait," his head lifted, "In front of his troops, on his knees."

"Is there anything else his majesty requests?"

"Call in the commanders; I want them by my side." There was no weakness in a victory, only strength, cunning and prowess. There may be rumors, they may still hate him, one way or another he would make them fear him.

When Shen's eyes finally settled on the lynx with his gaze to the ground, the young heir appeared flanked by his commanders several feet away. The feline's ear twitched, and at once raised his head to meet the victor; what he saw did not impress him. Confusion perhaps, surprise shifted against the weight of his brows. They had sent a juvenile to fight him, he thought, that sickly disappointment from Gongmen City.

"This can't be -" he groaned underneath his breath, cut off from the jab to his back.

"Why don't you speak up?" The prince approached his prisoner.

"Don't be shy. After all… the lives of your men depend on it." Shen waved his wing in their direction, a pitiful lot, holding on to the last shreds of faith spent up in their leader.

"I was expecting… someone with a bit more caliber. Though, I admit, I'm quite surprised his lordship hasn't caught a fever from all the excitement." The lynx knew how to pull his weight, he had information, and there was a certain price tag for his life. Banter had become a pick, for which he might use to unlock the certain snags in a confident façade. The gruff and worn faces of his soldiers chuckled in response, and for a moment there he could sense Shen's irritation.

Another jab, sharper this time to the side of his face made him reel forwards. A defiant grin held, as the lynx doubled over, hands bound at his back with a dying cough.

His head was forced up by the edge of Shen's blade. "Don't be mistaken," Shen warned, his glare sharpened, "I won't tolerate disrespect… if any mercy should find its way to you - I swear it will be the mercy of a clean and quick cut through your _neck_."

* * *

><p>That sound, that malleable presence broke him out of those waters- became the force that drove him beyond the water's edge. A sharp breath of air brought him back into the sunlight, in the confinements of that large and old tree. He bore his eyes into the roof, and dug his feathers- grasping the sheets.<p>

For a moment, he felt the anxiety, knowledge for which he could not easily move from where he lied. Perhaps he should have found familiarity in his situation, though he could not. Memories of a bedridden childhood would not instill normality into his situation.

The windows were opened, a breeze filtered through as the mouse sat a bit away. She played her erhu, lost in notes, its melody - gave life to the voice hidden behind strings. It would quench his agitation, calm.

"You knew my mother?"

She had had her eyes closed, they barely opened, her instrument becoming softer.

"One of many aids... I tended to her, traveled with her."

The last memory he had of her, the most impressionable was when she stood behind his father in the wake of his exile. Not even a word, let alone a glance. She would remain mute. Despite losing the sight of the heartbroken mixture driving her voice away, he only saw the vast amount of shame spill out in her silence. Her speechless mouth, more than knives that drove into his heart – and here he had thought, he'd become less impenetrable to these feelings.

No matter how shielded - whether out of spite and anger; could have prepared him for those long years _without_ them.

He hesitated, alarmed of whether he should speak anymore in fear of revealing his weakness for feeling. The mouse appeared a simple creature compared to her companion. No matter, a level of frustration would always find a way to disrupt any clear thoughts on Ting, for the simple fact that she had sacrificed her time and efforts to keep him living, breathing. Whether it had been for any good, remained questionable… Shen refused to regard his disappointment, ignoring its lasting burn and the desire (the courage- he thought) to kill himself instead.

"You knew of her then, you didn't actually _know_ her."

Aids were like flies, they worked around you – prepared you. They had jobs to commit, not socialize, unless it was required of them. Most of the time it ended up being mindless chatter about social affairs, rumors, the next celebrations and so on and so forth.

He didn't know her anyhow, not very well. Having himself compared to this mouse, a peasant who worked as an aid sharpened his expression ahead of that ceiling.

"She had many friends," the mouse seemed to be retaliating with his thoughts. "Her circle included many of her people, not simply reserved for officials and dignitaries." She leaned back a bit more in her seat.

"With time, our experiences, we both opened up I suppose- little by little."

"That's hard to believe…" a sharp whisper.

* * *

><p>Nianzu immediately became nervous when they ushered him past the meeting rooms. But since they had passed that room long ago – the nervousness began to eat through his thoughts when they reached the gates of the palace. Another part at least, besides the building they had toppled. He expected to see the faces of the Kung Fu Masters, Ox and Croc, instead he saw <em>her<em> instead.

"Soothsayer…"

She remained a distance away, standing at the opened door to a balcony with her back partially to him. Her warm air faltered, and did not regard him until several seconds later.

"Well? Come along now." Regardless of Croc and Ox, Nianzu felt just as nervous as he had beforehand – even a little cautious when it came to the Soothsayer. A part of him, perhaps of what he recalled from his childhood enjoyed her, revered her; as an adult he didn't know what to make of her anymore. Part of him disliked her entirely, while others seemed less committed to a single thought or judgment all together.

He moved then, like a child who'd done something wrong. His head remained low, his wrists and feet shackled allowed for restricted movement only.

He stopped just slightly off to her side. Couldn't help but glance at the city landscape, the world away, busy and alive. "Your future hangs on a balance," despite her calm, firm words, the edge of seriousness in her voice might as well heighten his anxiety. "Justice has many forms, Nianzu," she finally regards him, thought filled eyes glancing. "Which is it that you choose?"

He could feel every hair on his body slowly standing, helpless to fight against his quickening pulse.

"I… I don't quite-"He doesn't like riddles - he's the sort of person who gets strait to the point, quick and simple, no frills or extra seasoning. At the same time he only makes it worse, frightened by his poor response.

"What is it?" He blurts out instead, "What are my options?"

It can't actually be a second chance, can it? In the meantime he's having trouble reading her eyes.

She sighs, "That depends." She leaves a gap, haunted by the past with images belonging to Nianzu. By habit these also include Shen.

"While most of your warriors seemed to have followed your lead, regardless of your condition… There have been small bands, scattered throughout the city and causing trouble."

This is news to him, although he has expected it. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough that it's put a strain on some of the city's rebuilding, and looting. They seem to be gathering more members from the prisons, too. Random attacks on the groups going out, those willing to follow. And all of them have so far…"

They have locked eyes - they understand someone has already challenged his leadership. This information tightens around his neck, subconsciously his ears have drawn back- his lips twitch, he can feel a snarl threatening his features but he holds back. Nianzu must have thought about it already, too much, but having confirmed his suspicions he is now faced with something he isn't entirely sure he can help. Especially if death hangs just as firmly around his neck; and in that second he caves, he relents, his spirit tries to fight back but is too worn, too tired and beaten to propel back up.

She can see it, too.

"So…" The wolf's one good eye drifts to the floor instead.

"Is this the only time I'll be seeing you?" He thinks he will die, because he's in no condition to challenge and reaffirm his position. Not with his wounds still healing. She's the only visitor he's had for weeks, and somehow this makes all the confusion, nervous air drift away. He will die, seeing someone he has known for most of his life makes that noose feel-

"Hey!"

A sharp, 'innocent' whack comes across his shoulder – it stings.

"Enough of that," she scolds him. "Redemption comes at a high price, and you're lucky enough to have been given that chance." She scrutinizes the wolf more carefully now. A moment of uncertainty passes through her, wondering if she had been wrong- if Nianzu desires enough change.

"Are you willing to die without a fight, Nianzu? You know better than that." She smiles, no- she's grinning.

"Am I dream'n here? Are you _actually_ trying to help me?"

"You can only help yourself. I'm only here to offer you options at this very moment."

"Even, but- the raid? I've killed innocent people, in bloodlust- and you. You're just-"

"Think about it," she says instead, her grin finally softens into a smile. As she regards the city the same smile has finally worn off when the silence inhabits both of them. Without saying anymore words, the stunned Nianzu is escorted back to his cell, and the Soothsayer is once more left alone in thought.

* * *

><p>Ting, in a long while, has not encountered this feeling often.<p>

Indecision.

She cannot see very well, but her hearing is superb. It always had been, and she catches his words that fling into view.

She ends the song - the wind moves leaves and tree limbs that have the effect of sounding like the ocean, floods into the silence. The feeling however quickly becomes unbearable, especially from her guest. Before she can thoroughly plan it out, attempt to understand the urge itself, her voice squeaks out.

"But she loved you!"

It's almost a whisper, but he makes it out anyhow. It's not the first time he's heard it either, and there's more of a reason to disbelieve her claim. How could she have possibly understood his relationship with his mother? How could _any_ of them? The very thought this mouse, this little aid with her nimble hands thought she knew better, drove these bitter thoughts deeper.

A cool look of indifference is what he gives her. No sign of surprise or frustration marks him – he makes himself to appear bored instead. He starts to say something, but he's stopped.

It's the mouse, the little creature. She sits there, holding on to the bow with a firm grip that shakes, and holds her instrument close, and closer to her heart. As if she might faint if anyone were to rip it away from her.

"Oh- she loved you _so much_…" There's this crack in her little voice. The sort that can't be acted out, or rehearsed, it's almost ugly- but it's raw, and it's there. It's the sound of compassion, it echoes somewhere- she understands in one aspect all too clearly. It's different from sympathy, from the act of feeling sorry for someone, but never having to go through any of the pain or torture of their loss or tragedy. Sympathy borders on pity, and shame, but this here is all too sincere for him to barely comprehend it.

His mind blanks instead.

Previous words die.

The sound of leaves fills the gap - it keeps on singing, the air and its gentle breeze.

**~Notes:**

I really hope that was believable, hehe- well, we'll see… x3

CKDrake: Wanted to say that your help with pointing out errors has been very helpful. My grammar/sentence structure isn't the best. I agree that addressing those issues definitely helps the fic/overall writing a lot. I've tried my best to incorporate your input, I'm always willing to learn, and improve. Thank-you very much! I'm also glade the dialogue is going good so far, it can be so tricky sometimes xP

ToothlessFuture: I was kind of hesitant to bring Wolf Boss into it at first, but now he's here there's all sorts of things to torture him with ;P Glad you're enjoying!

Rekhyte: Glad you like it so far! Been curious as to whether the pace has been too slow or not, I'm glad you enjoy that.

Again, thanks everyone for your comments!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Kung Fu Panda 1 or 2, or anything within their content (including characters), all rights reserved to DreamWorks Studio

Notes: Been a bit busy, sorry for the large delay. Hope to fix up the last chapter soon, but I really wanted to get this one out. Thank-you for your support, your reviews, or even your meanderings onto the story.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>The sun is swallowed up.<p>

Gentle light no longer crawls from the windows. The clouds have taken residence, and the rain inhabits the island. Strong winds pass the old tree, a terrible sharp cold that lingers.

The mouse's remarks have not left Shen. They've come off a little bit more than irritation, words he's heard before that no longer roll off his wings, lost in whatever oblivion he's sent them to. It sparks the notion of peace, Po's words that have had the effect of searing themselves against his mind.

These words have run themselves over and over, broken at the ends, but repeating subconsciously. He's prisoner to them, just like the bed, that ceiling, the mouse.

Right now the though, the room is empty. Right now, his body refuses to sleep.

At first it seems to be the bed making his body ache, his back, and certain muscles to his neck. The blankets feel like they're suffocating him. He draws them back, enough so that they lie off his chest. Even then, the grey skyline seems to be creating a box with distant holes to remind him he's too far to ever think of reaching them again. That outside space, the clarity beyond a mirror and the illusions they hold out for him to try and make sense, sense of everything perhaps- or very little.

He grips the bed once more, any sheets nearest to his feathered fingertips before he starts to feel the full weight of this insanity. No longer slow and tedious, this feeling, governed lightly by periodic episodes that have run their silent course. But despite his best efforts it feels far too strong to be anything he can recognize now. He briefly wonders how any feelings, of all feelings, could possess this much power over him. Agrees that he has always thrived alongside it, but now- in his state, has felt too weary to embrace the desires that have driven it.

Peace.

What peace?

The word is false; it slanders him in this state. It forsakes him. It demands a sacrifice, of taking all that has been, what has _made_ him.

Let go? Why should he?

A quiet voice at the back of his head murmurs, regardless.

_How?_

It almost seems too late, as turmoil pressures inside of him. For once he wishes that he was weaker, too tired for it, that his mind would draw his eyes close and find him sleep despite how restless it might be, how nightmarish it may become.

He brings himself up right, begins to breathe more heavily now that he's distinguished this force tugging at him.

He gasps; looks out the window to see that those holes in the sky, those rays of light have disappeared.

Cut off, ensnared.

A sharp sigh escapes Shen's beak, gathering a sharp mouthful of air, shoulders slumping and curling inwards. Seconds pass before he can concentrate long enough to control his rapid heart and anxious lungs.

The air remains cold, and hollow. The room becomes something enormously huge to him, no matter how small it first appeared. These initial complaints ebb off when there is no one to catch his thoughts. Instead they seem to be bouncing off the walls and incessantly stirring that same pressure inside of him, enough for it to bloom.

He can't sit for any longer, can't wait, sleep.

Shen shoves the rest of the blankets off, swings his legs over and immediately grabs for the closest thing beside him when his legs try to hold. A sharp gasp breaks the surface, and all thoughts of pursuing his previous endeavors quickly surrender to excruciating pain. The tension of sore muscles, bruised and repairing strain to hold him. It's worse than a single clean cut. This pain combines the initial shock of a blade piercing the skin, with the additional friction of two taught ropes moving against one another, enduring and lasting with each movement, echoing in sordid amplification.

He trembles in the height of his consequences, trying his best to keep standing. His will holds on for several more seconds, before all together he is driven to the wooden floor on his hands and knees. Controlling anything at this point appears useless, as his breathing starts to take its toll. These are no longer dull aches, but sharp pinches that radiate from a mosaic of bruised ribs to tender tendon and bone.

At least it's _distracting_.

The shaking is violent at first, eventually ebbing off into a dull quiver. They follow his breathes after each exhale, sharp with continuing gasps. Shen can now feel the tears threatening to gush at the ends of his eyes. He snaps them shut, eyelids clenched.

* * *

><p>Nianzhu finds himself in the cover of a dark alleyway. If it weren't for the crocodile behind him, perhaps his confidence levels would manage to pull together and concentrate better.<p>

He continues to watch regardless, as several wolves work the stone, the buildings, once piles of rubble have now become visible rectangles and walls inching themselves higher. Wood beams reflect homes that are in the process of following the same effort.

Despite their compliance, Nianzhu senses tension. Defeat comes at a high price. Some have lost their friends, family, lovers... Pups and their mothers have been spared the work, but the air for change has taken a dip, and a new threat has rumored and weaseled itself through.

A clang of metal signals the lunch break.

A small group of bodies leave the main mass to the left. Hard to catch at first, to any untrained eye; the pack however is a familiar 'body' to Nianzhu. His ears are immediately brought up and pointed, signaling the reptile behind him.

"Northwest, five," he mumbles, glancing back.

Master Croc's nod heralds their chase. The labyrinth between homes, stores and buildings are all vaguely familiar to Nianzhu. What is at first a clumsy memory, faded, becomes concrete and vivid with each turn and passage of those walls. He is forced to climb to the tops, referring to his quarry's position from one point to the other with discretion.

They are led throughout the marina of Gongmen's harbor. The farther they follow, the poorer the people become. Kids and beggars wander these streets, sailors chatting up with their female dolls and possessions. It's an atmosphere Nianzhu is familiar with; the shadows in these dank areas are far from comfort despite their familiar ties. They are a childhood better left buried than embraced.

He lingers on a street corner, searching for the five that have now disappeared into the local fish market. The traffic is thick, and unsettling to Nianzhu. There are eyes now that he can distinctly feel on his person, but their location is hidden even from his senses. The fish, the seafood waft an aroma that covers the layers of many other individuals wandering the packed street. His focus detieriates as his insecurities heighten.

Another realization, Master Croc is missing. The matter is only a notion of thought, splitting up would cause less of a commotion. But with a disgruntling realization, he finds himself the object of 'bating' these rogues by his appearance.

"Damn…"

Irritated, the black wolf continues his blind search through the market. He keeps his eyes forwards, but at this point every sense is heighted, detecting the sounds, the smells as much as he can distinguish them. Forced to trust a previous enemy appears to be a step too far to take, and every false impulse of his freedom warrants more and more of his attention.

He swears again underneath his breath. Blind, he'll continue blindly like a fool; forcing himself beyond the discomfort of his intuition. He eventually relaxes and waits for the inevitable outcome. This is 'their' territory, 'their' playground, he'll be a pawn for however seconds, or minutes it'll take.

* * *

><p>Shen's minor struggle is unforgiving. His movement, slow, and lethargic, have led him only several steps away from the bed. He leans his shoulder against a wall, where a closed closet resides. The stars in his eyes finally resume before he starts shuffling again. He's managed to lean his weight enough against the wall to bring him farther from his previous confines. Though he underestimates his strength, and his focus fails to recall that very closet mere centimeters from his leading shoulder.<p>

The movement is quick and sudden. The closet door is paper thin and caves in, pushed inwards, the previous lord finds his face and body flat on the floor.

However useless it appeared, Shen's determination outmatched his complaining body. He could care less about himself.

Wait.

Before he starts preparing himself to get up, something catches his eyes.

Movement.

This movement forces him to look up into a mirror he failed to recognize in the closet. To his slight horror his crown is reflected off the surface, no longer full. Missing feathers, half feathers, crinkled and sparse… It wasn't so much terror that had gripped him then, than the repulsion permeating the air.

Desperation clawed at him to get up on his wings. Wincing, he stared, thoughtless at the shadow of a creature, which, nearly several weeks ago stood at the precipice of his goals.

A visible scar runs through his right eye at a diagonal. A thin, however visible black scar tissue prevents feathers from re-growing. Besides the ratty looking robe covering his body, the thought of scrutinizing his train is a thought of hesitation. The disheveled Shen staring straight back at him petrifies any other movement. Attempting to try and recall the scar itself leads to a dumb and blank answer.

* * *

><p>Nianzhu, immersed in the crowd continues onwards. Sellers shove their hands, holding produce as he passes. Voices rise together into a soup of incoherent mumbles.<p>

Several minutes pass before he is encountered by stalking bodies. A shove, a jostle moves him closer to the right, where alleyways, back ends, and poor living conditions sprawl out from the market. He lets their weight travel, as the congregation of young adolescent wolves shoves him against a wall, just out of view from the meandering mass of shoppers.

It amuses him, but before they can pin him he pushes the one closest away; a snarl emits from his maw, they stiffen. "The hell you think you're doing?"

There are four, cutting him off from the market. The alley's big enough that they can surround him, but when they try to Nianzhu growls in warning. They have obviously become hesitant now, the balance of their certainty failing them. "Sneaking around my back…" He can't falter now, the insecurities that flood behind his face. They're young… The consequences of breaking their loyalty weigh heavily on Nianzhu.

"You gave up," one of them whispers.

"I'd have been dead if I gave up. Now I still lead this pack, _I_ lead." His voice rose without thought.

"Not for much longer, I'm afraid." A deep, female voice approached on the other end of the alleyway. She was tall, lean, with her head held up as she regarded Nianzhu. The leopard held an air of indifference, Nianzhu wasn't much more than a speck of dust that needed to be disposed and taken care of.

"Where is she?" He barked, the glare in his eyes magnified, fists clenched. He didn't recognize the leopard, except that she only served as the gateway to the person responsible for Gongmen City's most recent crimes, and – inevitably - the claim to leadership. "Tell me!"

"Please, your customs will be practiced – _against_ my better judgment. You will have your chance to defend your leadership Nianzhu." She raised a hand, before resuming it behind her back with the other. "You should be grateful for your circumstances." Despite her certainty, that he would surely lose and die, the one-eyed wolf ignored it in the wake of his anger.

"Follow me." She turned around and started walking. The adolescents attempted to approach him, but another warning frightened them enough to leave him be. He walked, freely – feeding his rage for his thirst for blood and dominance, regardless of who it was that challenged his authority.

Nianzhu was led through a series of pathways, those of which inhabited most of the harbor. Eventually they entered a generic building, a tavern in the throes of alcohol and tobacco smoke. The haze made it hard for him to distinguish any of the people he passed. Some of them could have been other pack members, while others; locals drifted in the haze and shrouded themselves in the shade. They then took to stairs heading underground; two flights brought them to a large fighting arena. The architecture was less then elegant, but practical. The arena opened up to water along its edges except for its entrances, the stale smell of salt hung in the air.

As far as he could tell, the arena remained empty of bodies, spectators pooling their hopes and dreams in their prized fighters. Upon entering the focal arena, stains littered the wooden edges.

His steady gaze however focused on the figure, alone, on the arena floor with the sound of her sword cutting through the air. The malicious sting it sent echoed across the arena, fooling the almost serene, peaceful spectacle wielding the blade. By the time he'd made it nearly three, four meters from the female wolf, his guide had disappeared, along with the adolescents.

Seconds passed, she continued throughout the motions with what appeared to be ease. She turned, focused beyond him before she thrust the point of her sword in his direction. Cold blue eyes finally settling across his body.

"Two hours," she said callously, tightening her grip on the hilt. They finally make eye-contact, and although the words travel the distance between them, Nianzhu can barely register them in the heat of his own emotions. "Your hammer will be available…" She releases the hold, lightly twirling the blade and sheathing it on her left side. A sharp smile inhabits her face, when her eyes drift away to the floor behind him. She's lithe compared to the grunts, lean however, and just as tall as Nianzhu. A sentence tries to form itself behind her maw, and fails to reach the outside world. Instead, she brushes off the thought before passing the brooding male. There is no necessity to talk, no need to chit chat about anything besides the plain reality that faces them both.

No mercy.

After seconds pass Nianzhu finally recognizes his weapon on the other side of the arena, a pair of dual swords bearing Lord Shen's insignia in bright red accompanies it. Either one draws him closer, until he can kneel and place a hand on the head of the hammer where red markings indicate fire. The dull ache on his side reminds him he's not completely healed, though the emotional whirlwind possessing him numbs the indication all together. Leading his people, it came with a price.

He would honor that today.

* * *

><p>The day was nearly finished. Feng's was just starting. As by habit, he dropped by often at the large tree. With their new guest he'd been avoiding the area, but it was his assumption that the recovering peacock would be well asleep before his arrival.<p>

His routine brought him through the opening of the quaint abode. He took the short flight of stairs to the main living area as usual. The moment he walked past the opening a cool sensation tickled at the extremity of his feathers. His body felt it first, before his eyes could register it, barely missing the metal flung across the breadth of his chest. Beyond the metal _whoosh_, his oblivious state immediately prepared for retaliation and action.

What he saw made him hesitate at the height of his ascent. With wings drawn up, talons preparing to attack in the process, all together paused and held.

The ravaged peacock had his weight on a low-level dining table, hunched over, staring curiously into his eyes. "You _moved_."

Again, to his disbelief the owl stiffened in post-shock. The strange creature was far from well… and alive, and – talking. Anger quickly shoved these notions aside, _had_ he been Ting…

"Cur! You unpleasant… little – to hell with it!" He shoved the crippled peacock to the ground, the edge of his wing drove hard along Shen's neck, pinning him. "After everything-" Shen was smiling, smirking even despite the crushing sensation and throbbing. "Well? I doubt Ting would have had the dexterity to avoid _them_." Shen clawed at the wing holding him, regardless if it made a difference.

A spiteful laugh broke through the struggle. "What makes you think I'd hesitate?"

"Nothing does," he said evenly. Feng's previous passion associated with his hatred for this stranger passes his eyes. A silence inhabits the owl now, a clear awareness for this creature – or at least some part of him has settled deep inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Comments:<strong> This is set up more in a two-part sequence. I didn't really realize I'd include Wolf Boss as much as I have so far, I think I intend to from now on out anyways.

I hoped you enjoyed it! I really wanted to finish this one; it took a while to spit itself out of my head. I just wanted to note I'm far from abandoning this story, as I have many ideas to play around with. I also hope my interpretation of the main characters is realistic enough, I find it's sometimes hard to tell when you're so involved with it.

You're reviews and comments are greatly appreciated!

~R. Ruin


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